Page 34 of Making It Burn

“You are.”He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that our knees brushed.“Why did you really come here tonight, Mason?”

“I told you.I needed a drink.”

“Bullshit.You could’ve had a drink at home.Or at any of the dozen other bars between here and your apartment.”His eyes searched mine.“Why here?”

Because I’m terrified of how much I want you and I thought meeting someone else might fix it.

“I don’t know,” I said instead.

“Liar.”

“What about you?Why are you here?”

“Same reason.”His voice dropped, rougher now.“I needed to forget about someone.”

My heart kicked against my ribs.“Did it work?”

“No.”He reached across the table, and his fingers brushed mine.Just barely.Just enough to send electricity shooting up my arm.“Not even a little.”

The bar was loud, crowded, full of people laughing and dancing and living their lives.But all I could focus on was the point where Beau’s skin touched mine, and the way he was looking at me like he was about to do something reckless.

“Mason—”

“We should stop,” I said, but I didn’t pull my hand away.

“Stop what?”

“This.Whatever this is.”

“Why?”

“Because we work together, and it’s complicated.Because—”

“Because you’re scared.”

The words hit like a slap.“I’m not scared.”

“Then prove it.”Beau’s hand covered mine completely now, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.“Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Of course you don’t.”But he was standing, pulling me up with him, not giving me a choice.“Come on, Price.Live dangerously for once in your life.”

The dance floor was packed, bodies moving together in the semi-darkness.Beau pulled me into the center, and suddenly we were pressed close, his hands on my hips, my hands on his shoulders, moving to music I couldn’t even hear over the pounding of my heart.

“This is a bad idea,” I said, but I didn’t move away.

“Probably.”His breath was warm against my ear.“But you’re here anyway.”

“I’m drunk.”

“You’re tipsy.There’s a difference.”

He was right.I was just drunk enough to have an excuse, but not drunk enough that this was anything other than a choice.A terrible, irresponsible, absolutely inevitable choice.

Beau’s hands slid from my hips to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

“Mason,” he breathed, and when I looked at him, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.